


Room 13

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Halloween Challenge, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: Exhausted, Napoleon and Illya pull into a motel for the night.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Room 13

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elmey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmey/gifts).



> Based on a photo prompt from Elmey - a TV with a glitch. This is my first attempt at writing horror. Happy Halloween!

The motel was deceptively peaceful in the daytime. In the warm morning sun birdsong filled the air, competing with the cicadas buzzing in the trees, and the scent of lilac drifted on a breeze that gently stirred the tall grass.  
  
It should have been a beautiful day.

The motel clerk stood outside the door of room 13 and took a deep breath. He hoped there wouldn’t be too much mess to clean up this time; he had a bitch of a hangover this morning.  
  
He picked up the bucket, tucked the plastic sheet and the mop under his arm and unlocked the door. He paused on the threshold to survey the damage. Not too bad, considering: splashes of blood on the sheets, but they could be replaced; pools of blood on the floor - that was the benefit of having linoleum; spatters of blood on the painted wall, easily washed down. The only damage he could see was a broken wall mirror, which he’d need to replace. Damn. He hated cleaning up broken glass.  
  
What was left of the man renting the room was lying on the other side of the bed, face down. The clerk pulled on some rubber gloves and turned the body over. He grimaced with distaste; it was a mess. Deep slashes covered most of the man’s torso and the man’s stomach had been torn open, viscera spilling out onto the floor. The clerk swallowed down his nausea and looked at the face; a large chunk of flesh was missing from his cheek, exposing his upper jaw. A gold tooth sparkled brightly amongst the gore. The clerk hesitated a moment, regarding the tooth; _Nah_ , he decided, leave it where it was. He did have _some_ principles.  
  
He opened out the plastic sheet on the floor, rolled the body onto it and secured it with rope. Later, he’d drive it down to the bayou and let the alligators take care of it.  
  
He looked around the room. The man’s wallet and watch lay on the bedside table. He picked up the wallet and removed the cash, stuffing it into his pocket along with the watch. In the man’s jacket he found the car keys. They joined the other purloined items in his pocket. He’d check the suitcase later, just in case there was anything of value, before taking the man’s belongings out back and burning the evidence.  
  
He kept one eye on the TV set as he started to clean up. It always made him nervous. Sometimes he could hear _it_ whispering, but he knew it was okay to go in there during the day; the ‘thing’ didn’t like the light and only came out after dark. Even so, he wouldn’t feel completely safe till he’d finished the clean-up and locked the door behind him.  
  
  
_One month later…_  
  
It was the colourful, winking lights that first caught Napoleon’s eye, cutting through the black of the night like a lighthouse beacon. With a sigh, he turned off the main road guided by the VACANCY sign and pulled into the small, two story motel. He turned the car into a space under the blinking sign outside the office and put the car in park.  
  
Some of the sign’s bulbs needed replacing but it was light enough to let him study his immediate surroundings. The place could certainly do with a fresh coat of paint. Rubbish was piled up against a nearby dumpster and weeds grew through the gravel in random patches, giving the place a feeling of neglect. Most of the motel was in darkness and if it wasn’t for the light shining from the office, he might have thought the place deserted.  
  
_Oh, well,_ Napoleon thought, _needs must when the devil drives_. Besides, it was only for one night. He sighed and switched off the engine.  
  
Next to him, Illya slept on, exhaustion making him oblivious to the cessation of motion. Napoleon watched him a moment, amazed as always by the emotions his partner stirred in him.  
It had been barely a month since they’d taken the final step to becoming lovers. The journey to that point in their lives had seemed inevitable, but it had been worth the wait. Napoleon had wanted him a long time and the discovery that Illya felt the same way had finally brought them together. And since becoming intimate, Napoleon’s love for his partner had gone from strength to strength.  
  
_Love_. A four letter word, easily spoken but not always meant. He’d used the word before in the line of duty, as a meaningless tool, a means to an end. It shamed him that such a powerful word could be used to manipulate a person to give up secrets or turn them against someone, but a spy had to utilize any means at his disposal. It cost him nothing to say it, if he didn’t mean it; it wasn’t like the real thing, not like the way he felt about Illya.  
  
He shook his head. Boy, he had it bad. He chuckled quietly, indulging himself a little as he studied his partner. Those full, kissable lips parted as he exhaled small puffs of breath. Large hands, that could kill or give pleasure, were held loose in his lap as he listed to one side, the blond head resting against Napoleon’s shoulder.  
  
Napoleon would have liked to kiss him awake, but this was probably not the time or place for public displays, even if the motel looked deserted. Instead, he let his fingertips gently brush against his partner’s cheek. “Hey. Wake up, sleepy head.”  
  
Illya’s eyes fluttered open. He yawned and stretched. “Are we home?”  
  
“No. I pulled into a motel.”  
  
Illya groaned and rubbed his head against Napoleon’s shoulder, apparently disinclined to move. “I want my bed.”  
  
“I want your bed, too, but we’re both too tired to drive on.”  
  
“What if they’re still following us?”  
  
“They’re not.”  
  
“All the same…”  
  
“They’re not. They couldn’t keep up with this baby, anyway,” Napoleon replied, tapping the dashboard. “Look, in the morning we’ll be up before the birds and we’ll be on our way home.”  
  
Illya smiled up at him. “Mm. Home sounds nice.”  
  
Napoleon couldn’t agree more. For him, home had once meant the four walls he resided in. Since they’d become lovers, home had become Illya, wherever they were.  
  
Illya pushed himself upright, running his hands through his hair and disordering it, making Napoleon smile; he loved a rumpled Illya.  
  
“Wait here. I’ll go in and pay for a room,” Napoleon said.  
  
“’kay,” Illya replied, mid-yawn.  
  
The office was empty. Napoleon tapped the bell on the counter, then again more impatiently a few moments later. The door behind the desk creaked open and a gaunt young man shuffled out.  
  
“Room, please,” Napoleon said.  
  
“Ten bucks a night.”  
  
Napoleon felt the man’s eyes on him as he signed the register. When he looked up the clerk was staring through the door where Illya lounged against the car.  
  
“Nice motor,” the clerk said.  
  
“Thanks,” Napoleon said, too tired for small talk.  
  
“Pontiac GTO?”  
  
Distracted as he searched for his wallet, Napoleon simply replied, “Uh-huh.”  
  
The clerk nodded his approval. “Nought to sixty in six point six seconds.”  
  
“It’s fast,” Napoleon agreed. It needed to be. He plucked a note out of his wallet and dropped it on the counter.  
  
The clerk reached behind to pluck a key from rack on the wall. “Top of the stairs, number 13. I just cleaned it.” He tossed the key onto the counter and Napoleon picked it up without a word and left the office.  
  
Outside, he gestured for Illya to follow.  
  
  
The desk clerk watched as they headed up the steps to the first floor landing, a smirk on his face. He’d be busy in the morning, cleaning the room after the carnage to come. It was a small price to pay for such easy pickings.  
  
The dark haired man was wearing a snazzy suit, an expensive looking watch and a nice pair of shiny leather wingtip shoes. In the morning, after he’d tidied up, anything sellable or salvageable would be his to dispose of. The car should bring a pretty penny; he had an arrangement with a man in town who happily took them off his hands, no questions asked.  
Maybe those fancy Italian shoes would fit him, too.  
  
He sat and switched on the TV. It was going to be a long night.  
  
  
The state of the place was a bad sign. The paint was weatherworn and flaking off in places and the balustrade on the landing was rotten in parts and missing a section of the railing.  
  
Napoleon stopped at the top of the stairs outside their room and flicked a finger against the broken number plate hanging sideways by one screw. He sighed. This didn’t bode well.  
  
“We’ve slept in worse,” Illya said, reading Napoleon’s mind.  
  
“Thrush cells don’t count,” Napoleon replied. He groaned, his frustration showing. “I hope the bed bugs don’t bite.”  
  
“If they do, I’ll bite them back,” Illya said, snapping his teeth together.  
  
Napoleon chuckled and pushed the key into the lock. He opened the door, flicking the light switch as he entered; the light didn’t come on. Napoleon looked up and noticed the bulb was missing, so he moved to the bedside table and tried the lamp instead. Thankfully, the little Tiffany lamp worked, its glass shade casting a pleasing, coloured pattern onto the ceiling and walls, though its dim light struggled to reach into the corners of the room.  
  
Napoleon looked around. It was surprisingly tidy and not nearly as bad as he’d expected. Twin beds with freshly laundered linen were pushed up against one wall. In the opposite corner was a small laminate topped table with two chairs. Across the room was a worn two-seater sofa that had seen better days, sitting in front of a window next to an old TV set angled to face the beds.  
  
Illya ran his finger over the bed side table. “At least it looks as though it’s been recently cleaned.” He wandered around the room, inspecting the place. He didn’t expect to find any bugs, at least not the electronic kinds, but old habits die hard. On one wall was a wood framed mirror, the price sticker still on the corner indicating it had come from a thrift store. He leaned towards it, combing his fingers through his bangs, rearranging them to his satisfaction. Behind him, in the reflection, he saw Napoleon watching him with amusement as he removed his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa.  
  
“Do you suppose there’s anywhere nearby we can get something to eat?” Illya asked, taking his jacket off, too, and draping it next to Napoleon’s. When he turned around, Napoleon was bouncing on one of the beds to test the springs.  
  
“Always thinking of your stomach,” Napoleon said. “There are other parts of the anatomy that need attention, too, you know.” He slipped his gun harness off his shoulders and dropped it carefully to the floor. With a groan, he stretched the kinks out of his neck and turned towards Illya, head cocked to one side, a predatory smile on his face as he patted the space beside him. “Care to join me?”  
  
Illya knew that look; he’d been on the receiving end of it numerous times since they’d become intimate. Truth be told, Napoleon was hard to resist. So he didn’t.  
  
He walked slowly towards him, a smile on his face. “Really, Napoleon? You’ve been driving for hours. You’re dead on your feet.”  
  
“My feet may be dead, but the rest of me is alive and kicking,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
Illya moved to stand between Napoleon’s thighs. “You’re incorrigible,” he murmured, framing Napoleon’s face with his hands as he leaned down to kiss his mouth. As the kiss deepened, Napoleon leaned back, pulling Illya on top of him.  
  
When the kiss ended, Illya pulled away with a frown. “Did you notice the name of the motel when we came in? It wasn’t Bates, was it?”  
  
Napoleon chuckled. “I knew I shouldn’t have taken you to see that movie. Do you want to check the walls for hidden peep holes?”  
  
“If anyone’s peeping, they’re going to see more than they bargained for.”  
  
“They’d need good eyesight in this lighting. Still, just in case,” Napoleon said, as he reached over and switched off the lamp, leaving the room dark except for the soft glow of silver moonlight through the open drapes.  
  
Napoleon slipped a hand under Illya’s gun harness and pushed it off his shoulders, letting it slip to the floor next to his. His other hand slid into Illya’s hair, adding a little pressure to pull him down for another slow kiss. He’d never tire of kissing Illya. Their mouths and bodies fit so perfectly, each knowing instinctively what the other wanted, needed, as compatible in their lovemaking as they were in the field.  
  
Napoleon wasn’t sure, though, that Illya knew exactly the depth of his feelings. He wanted him to know, before something bad happened and it was too late to say the words. In their line of business, you never knew what tomorrow might bring; the possibility of death was an ever present threat.  
  
He pulled away from the kiss, pushing Illya back a little so he could see his face. His hand rose to cup Illya’s cheek and suddenly, lost in those blue eyes, the words eluded him.  
  
Illya saw the hesitation. “What, Napoleon? What’s wrong?”  
  
Napoleon shook his head, saying, truthfully, “Absolutely nothing. Everything is just perfect. _You’re_ perfect.” He swallowed hard, uncharacteristically nervous. “I just wanted to say… I just wanted to say—“ A loud click from behind interrupted him and he frowned. “The TV just switched on.”  
  
“The TV switched on?” Illya’s head turned towards the softly glowing screen. He pushed up on one elbow as the screen flickered and a scene from an old black and white movie appeared, the sound blaring out. “Hm. So it did,” Illya replied.  
  
“Ignore it,” Napoleon replied, annoyed at the intrusion and wanting to get back to the matter at hand. He reached up, kissing Illya’s neck.  
  
Illya looked back at Napoleon. “Doesn’t that noise disturb you?”  
  
“You’re the only thing that disturbs me,” Napoleon assured him, his hands slipping down his back to squeeze at Illya’s buttocks.  
  
Amused, Illya shook his head and pulled away, slipping off the bed.  
  
Napoleon’s head dropped back onto the pillow. “Hurry back. I was just getting warmed up.”  
  
Illya was at the set, searching for the knob. He found it and twisted it to ‘off’ and the room went silent and dark again. He was about to walk back to the bed, when the set switched back on.  
  
“Huh,” Illya muttered as he turned back towards the TV.  
  
Napoleon pushed up onto his elbows, frowning. “What’s wrong with that thing?”  
  
“Must be a glitch in the set.” Illya crouched down to examine the TV. Perhaps there was a short somewhere. On the screen, the picture began to roll and flicker, then disappeared altogether as it turned into a blizzard of interference. Illya was about to pull the plug from the socket when he thought he heard a whispering sound from the set.  
  
He leaned closer, examining it intently. The snowstorm churned and twisted and Illya was sure he could see a pattern forming in the maelstrom. Suddenly, without warning, an intense, hot blast of wind shot from the screen, the force of it knocking Illya flat onto his back.  
  
Napoleon was by his side in an instant, lifting him up. “You okay?”  
  
“I’m fine. What happened?” Illya asked, regaining his equilibrium.  
  
“Something came out of the TV.” They stood, looking around the darkened room. “There,” Napoleon said, pointing towards the door.  
  
In the gloom, something tall and shapeless swirled like a dark tornado, blacker than the dark surroundings. It writhed and stretched and, as they watched, it slowly transformed, becoming solid as its silhouette changed shape. Arms and legs appeared, attached to a torso with a boney ribcage topped by a large dog-like head with an elongated snout.  
  
Both men watched in fascinated horror, unable to comprehend what was happening. In the moon light coming from the window, they could see that whatever it was, it was now fully formed. The eyes looking back at them were large, green-tinged yellow, the pupils elongated like a button hole and the sclera blood-shot and dull. Its dark olive skin undulated, as though a million worms tunneled beneath the flesh, and its breath came in rapid pants as a forked tongue flickered from its snout, tasting the air. A faint smell of decay, like rotting flesh, pervaded the room.  
  
“Illya,” Napoleon said, quietly out of the corner of his mouth. “Are you seeing this?”  
  
“I’m seeing it. I’m not sure I’m believing it.”  
  
Napoleon briefly glanced at his partner, not wanting to take his eyes of the thing in front of them for too long. “You’re the smart one. What are we looking at here?”  
  
“An amorphous vapour emanating from the TV set, turning into a solid, unidentifiable life form. I have no scientific explanation for this.”  
  
Napoleon huffed. “Somehow I thought you’d say that. It isn’t natural, that’s for sure.”  
  
“Somehow,” Illya replied. “I don’t think we’re dealing with natural, more like supernatural.” He felt Napoleon’s head swivel to look at him. Illya shrugged. “I come from a superstitious country, Napoleon. I was raised on stories of the supernatural.”  
  
“Any supernatural stories about TV demons?”  
  
“We didn’t have a TV,” he muttered, without looking at Napoleon. “How else would you explain this?”  
  
“Hallucination?”  
  
“Then we’re sharing the same hallucination.” Illya took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  
“Any suggestions?”  
  
“Well, if it wasn’t standing between us and the door, I’d suggest we skedaddled, post haste. I can honestly say this is not a situation I’ve ever found myself in before.”  
  
Both men stepped back as the thing swayed and took a faltering step forward. Its head went up, sniffing the air, its scrutiny going from one man to the other.  
  
“I don’t like the way it’s looking at us,” Napoleon said.  
  
“You mean like we’re a pair of juicy steaks and it hasn’t eaten for weeks?”  
  
Napoleon winced. “You get that feeling too, huh?”  
  
The hideous creature seemed to settle its sights on Napoleon.  
  
“Uh, oh,” Napoleon said. He looked about for his discarded holster. There, next to Illya’s, on the other side of the bed. He dove over the divan and the creature’s head followed the movement, its measured pace changing direction to follow him. In one smooth movement, Napoleon pulled his Special from the harness and fired at the thing approaching him.  
  
The bullet passed through it, embedding into the wall behind, but the creature still came towards him, unaffected. Napoleon fired again, but it continued to advance. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that his weapon wasn’t going to be any help. He also realized the thing was backing him into a corner.  
  
Illya recognized they were at a disadvantage in the dark. While the thing’s attention was on Napoleon, he edged over to the bedside lamp and switched it on. The reaction was immediate as the creature screeched and raised its hands to cover its eyes, stamping its foot in rage. Illya felt the floor tremble with the impact as it turned towards him and effortlessly picked up the corner of one of the beds and tossed it aside. It struck out, backhanding Illya sideways with one hand as it knocked the Tiffany lamp to the floor with the other.  
  
The room plunged back into darkness.  
  
  
Down in his office, the desk clerk looked up as two muffled bangs came from upstairs. He sighed; it was going to be a long night. The light fitting shook from a loud thump from above. Then came another loud bang and the sound of furniture scraping across the floor, followed by the sound of breaking glass; he hoped that wasn’t another mirror. As another loud thud disturbed his light fitting again, he sat forward and turned off the TV. He wasn’t going to get any peace tonight. He may as well turn in; he was going to be busy in the morning.  
  
  
“It doesn’t like the light!” Illya shouted, scrabbling backwards as the creature started to advance towards him.  
  
Illya glanced at his holdall across the room. He had the answer, if only he could get to it, but this thing was between him and the possible solution.  
  
“I need something from my bag. Can you distract it?” he shouted to his partner as the thing got closer.  
  
Napoleon swallowed hard. “Why don’t _you_ distract it and _I’ll_ get something from your bag?” But as the creature neared Illya, Napoleon murmured, “Oh, no you don’t.” He picked up a chair and smashed it across the creature’s back directing its ire back towards him. The thing slowly turned and shuffled in his direction. Whatever Illya had planned, he hoped it would be quick.  
  
Illya had reached his holdall and was rummaging through it, keeping one eye on what was happening on the other side of the room. The thing had cornered Napoleon again and had reached out a hand to grasp him by the throat.  
  
Napoleon croaked out, “Hurry.” He could feel the creature’s talons piercing the skin of his flesh, felt blood trickling down from the puncture wounds. Its mouth gaped open and Napoleon got a too-close-for-comfort look at hundreds of yellow, shark-like teeth as a long, grey tongue snaked out to lick at the trails of blood on his neck. He almost gagged from the feel of its slime covered tongue and the smell of its rancid breath. Its face came closer, closer still, as Napoleon felt his strength draining quickly through lack of oxygen.  
  
Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding light. Napoleon felt the creature’s grip abandon his neck as its hands rose to cover its bulbous eyes, screaming in a short, high pitched wail. Napoleon slid down the wall, forgotten, as it turned towards its tormentor with a howl of rage.  
  
Illya stood a few feet away, a Kodak Instamatic in his hand. As the thing lowered its hands and started towards him, he raised it again and pressed the button on the small camera. Another flash lit up the room. Again, the thing screamed, raising an arm to protect its eyes as it lashed blindly out with the other arm. Illya dodged the blow and moved out of reach. When it dropped its hands, it seemed dazed. It took another cautious step towards him, but once again Illya’s camera flashed at it.  
  
The camera’s flashcube held four flashes. One had been previously used, which meant the cube was now depleted. Illya pressed a catch on the camera and ejected the spent bulb. He was about to insert a new bulb, when the creature took advantage of his distraction. It regained its senses and lashed out, smacking the camera out of Illya’s hand. The camera and the flash bulb skittered away from his reach.  
  
Its hand struck at Illya, who managed to duck back, but not before its talons tore a gash in his shirt and drew a thin line of blood along his chest. It shoved a hand against his shoulder and propelled him backwards and he grunted as his back forcefully hit the wall. Before he could move, he felt its cold hand wrap around his upper arm, its foul breath inches away from his face, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. Its hideous maw gaped wide, almost entirely encompassing Illya’s face. Illya began to feel his vision darken at the edges.  
  
Suddenly, lightening seemed to light up the room, and Illya felt the monster’s rapid withdrawal as it backed away from him. Napoleon held the camera aloft in his hand, his face full of fury as he aimed it at the creature. “Get the Hell--” _Flash!_ “—away from him!” _Flash!_  
  
With each flash the creature backed away till it was crouched in the corner of the room. Napoleon advanced on it, holding the camera inches from its face and pressed the button again. _Flash!_ The creature made a ghastly, high pitched shriek and dropped to the floor, appearing to shrivel as it cowered against the wall, whimpering. Its body started to jerk and writhe, like the death throes of a snake, as it started to collapse in on itself, shrinking, losing shape till it was nothing more than a bundle of bones and skin.  
  
From the mound on the floor came a dark, smoke-like substance that twisted in the air like a water spout and hung there for a moment before shooting sideways into the TV. The carcass left behind collapsed and crumbled into a pile of dust.  
  
Both men turned towards the TV, watching the snowstorm on the screen spin madly, coalescing into a face full of rage and hatred, before the TV suddenly switched off.  
  
The sudden silence was deafening. Napoleon watched the screen warily and jumped when Illya’s voice croaked, “Napoleon?”  
  
“Illya?” He rushed over to his friend’s side and cradled the beloved face. “Are you okay?”  
  
Dazed, Illya nodded. “Is it gone?”  
  
Napoleon nodded and gestured at the TV. “Back to Hell where it came from, I hope.” He pulled Illya up into his arms, cradling him against his chest. “How do you feel?”  
  
“Like I did ten rounds with Sugar Ray Robinson. You?”  
  
Napoleon touched his sore neck. “I’ll live, but I may have to borrow one of your turtle necks for a while.” He looked towards the TV set. “What was that thing?”  
  
“I don’t know, but I think I’d rather face any number of Thrushies any day of the week,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon chuckled “After this, fighting Thrush would be like fighting Shirley Temple,”  
Napoleon replied with a smile. He glanced around the room. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stay a moment longer. Let’s get out of here.”  
  
They quickly gathered their belongings. As they left the room, Napoleon paused on the threshold and removed his Special, firing a single bullet at the TV. The tube exploded with a loud pop, followed by a satisfying flash of sparks.  
  
Napoleon quickly closed the door, not bothering to take the key from the lock, relieved to just be away from the proximity of the cursed TV set. He swiftly followed Illya down the stairs.  
  
They stopped outside the office, but the lights were off and the Closed sign was on the door.  
  
“Looks like he’s gone home for the night.”  
  
“Sounds like a good idea,” Illya agreed. “Let’s do the same.”  
  
Illya slipped into the driving seat and waited as Napoleon tossed the holdall onto the rear seat before settling in next to him. When Illya didn’t move, Napoleon asked, “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I’m trying to process what just happened.”  
  
“Well, let’s process elsewhere, shall we? For now, I’d like to put as much distance between us and this place.”  
  
Illya nodded. “Agreed.” He turned the key and started the engine.  
  
“Wait,” Napoleon said, resting a hand on Illya’s arm.  
  
Illya waited and when Napoleon didn’t speak, asked, “Did we forget something?”  
  
“No. Yes. Sort of.” Napoleon took a deep breath and turned towards him. “It’s just… before we were so rudely interrupted… there was something I wanted to say?”  
  
Napoleon lapsed back into silence, his tongue suddenly tied in knots. Illya leaned over, kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Never mind,” he said, resting his forehead against Napoleon’s. “You don’t need to say it. You tell me every day with every touch, every look.” He kissed him again. “And just for the record, I do to.”  
  
Napoleon grinned happily. “I don’t know why we bother with words.” He sat back and waved a hand at the road before them. “Let’s go home. We have some wounds to lick. Or something,” he added, with a cheeky nudge in Illya’s ribs.  
  
Illya took the car out of park. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, as the car moved forward. “I won’t be recommending this motel, that’s for sure.”  
  
  
_Five weeks later…_  
  
Harvey Prattle hummed to himself as he drove. He was a long way from home, but he took his time. After all, he had no one to answer to now the old battle-axe had finally gone to meet her maker. Her medication had been easy to doctor; nobody suspected a thing. Now, he was free as a bird and happily gambling and drinking his way through the insurance money.  
  
He pulled into a motel, lured by the Vacancy sign flashing in the gloom, and parked outside the office. Inside, he was greeted by the desk clerk. Harvey smiled pleasantly at the lean young man. “A room, please.”  
  
“Sure. Ten bucks a night,” the clerk said. He watched intently as Harvey peeled a note from a fat wad in his wallet and glanced out of the door at the red corvette parked outside.  
“Nice car.”  
  
“Thanks. Used to be the wife’s, God rest her soul.”  
  
The clerk reached behind him, plucking a key off the board. “Why don’t you take number 13, top of the stairs. It has a brand new TV set and I, ah, just cleaned the room.”  
  
He watched as the man turned to walk away and sighed. It had been inconvenient having to buy a new TV, but his ‘special guest’ needed a place to shelter, like the hermit crab needed its shell. Besides, he’d earn his expenses back, judging by the man’s fat wallet.  
  
He sat, popping the cap off a beer bottle as he picked up his newspaper. He shook it out with a snap. Tonight, he’d relax; tomorrow, he was going to be busy.  
  
**The End**


End file.
